“Friends, I am John Wesley,” he said. “I have come sixty miles and better, having heard from Mr. Hartwell that I was needed in regard to this same Pritchard, but having been made acquainted with no points of detail. Sirs, since I entered this room I have, I believe, learned all that Mr. Hartwell forbore to tell me, and now I hasten to give you my assurance that I cannot countenance aught that this man Pritchard said. I deplore most heartily that he should be so far misled as to take upon him to utter a statement of prophecy touching the most awful event that our faith as believers takes a count of. Brethren, we are told that we know not the day nor the hour when that dread shall fall upon the world. That is the written Word of the Most High, and any man who, whether under the impulse of vanity or in the sincere belief that he possesses the gift of prophecy, is presumptuous, is likely to become a stumbling block and a rock of offence. That is all that I have to say at this time. I have said so much in the hope that all who hear me will refrain from attributing to the influence of my preaching or teaching, an act or a statement which I and my associates repudiate and condemn.” He inclined his head slowly, and then, picking up his hat, left the room. But before he reached the door every man in the room had risen respectfully, though no word was spoken by anyone present. Even after his departure there was a silence that lasted for several minutes. Everyone seemed to have drawn a long breath as of relief. “Gentlemen, I think you may breathe freely once more: the world will last over Monday after all,” said the surgeon. “Ay, the master has spoken and disowned his pupil,” said another. “Maybe that's because he feels chagrined that he lost the chance that Dick Pritchard grappled with,” suggested the pale youth. “Boy,” said the traveller, with a contemptuous wave of the hand. “Boy, Mr. Wesley is a man of learning and a man of parts, not a charlatan in a booth at a fair.” “Or one with the duck's instinct of seeking for water with a quack--ay, a quack with a quack,” said the surgeon. “Well, if the world is not to expire on Monday, we would do well to drink her health, so hey for a gallon of old ale so far as it goes,” cried the man with the shaking head. The opinion seemed to be all but general, that some sign of hilarity would not now be so much out of place as it seemed to be a quarter of an hour earlier, and the landlord was zealous in support of this view. He promised them a tipple worthy of the name, even if the world were to break up in a day or two! But long before the company were satisfied Wesley was on his horse riding slowly down to Ruthallion Mill.